


Lazy Days

by LilyInTheSnow



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Old Married Couple, POV Steve Rogers, Pretend nothing after Civil War happened, Retired Steve Rogers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and Bucky did the whole goat farming thing, except Bucky and Steve going to Wakanda, farmer Bucky, like a lot, mentions of Sam and Natasha - Freeform, steve's a sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 15:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20996765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyInTheSnow/pseuds/LilyInTheSnow
Summary: Steve woke slowly, the way he did most days now that he was retired. There was no jumping out of bed and then hurrying up and waiting for disaster to strike. Not for a while now. It had been so long since he'd had days like this, lazy mornings, that at first he hadn't known how to handle it. It had taken time to get used to. Time to appreciate the syrupy slow movement of time, the sunrise slowly chasing away dark shadows at the edge of the room. At the edge of the world. Every morning had been a struggle to be still, to lie there in the warm comfort of his bed, to sit with a cup of coffee and watch the world turn without him. But now? Now he only stretches with his eyes still closed, pulls the blanket up under his chin, and rubs his face against his pillow as he slides a hand across the bed to reach for Bucky.





	Lazy Days

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit different from my usual stuff. Steve's POV for one. xD 
> 
> Thank you to panthergyrl over on Tumblr for the duck slippers, the cat's name, and everything else! <3<3<3

Steve woke slowly, the way he did most days now that he was retired. There was no jumping out of bed and then hurrying up and waiting for disaster to strike. Not for a while now. It had been so long since he'd had days like this, lazy mornings, that at first he hadn't known how to handle it. It had taken time to get used to. Time to appreciate the syrupy slow movement of time, the sunrise slowly chasing away dark shadows at the edge of the room. At the edge of the world. Every morning had been a struggle to be still, to lie there in the warm comfort of his bed, to sit with a cup of coffee and watch the world turn without him. But now? Now he only stretches with his eyes still closed, pulls the blanket up under his chin, and rubs his face against his pillow as he slides a hand across the bed to reach for Bucky.

His eyes fly open, heart racing, cold sweat prickling on his skin, nausea swirling in his stomach when he encounters an empty space where his husband should be. He flings the blankets off as he sits up, ready to go after him. To find whoever tried to take him away again. To bring him home.

He's halfway to the closet for clothes when he hears what he had missed while lying in bed and enjoying the slow morning. The sound of chickens clucking and fussing, the crowing of the rooster. Ducks quacking and the quieter rasping of the drakes. The goats gifted from Shuri that Bucky promises aren't named after Steve but really are, bleating and causing a stir. Bucky's puppy, smaller than the smallest chicken, yapping excitedly. Steve knows Pal is bouncing around Bucky's feet. Bucky's out feeding the animals.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself as he forces his feet to turn back to the bed. He sits on the edge, breathing slow and deep with a hand on his stomach to quell the nausea. He closes his eyes, focuses on the sounds coming from outside that let him know Bucky is still there. No one is taking him away. No one will come for them. Not anymore. His heart slows and he sighs as he scrubs his free hand over his face. It's over. It's all over. He never has to pick up the shield, never again has to don the suit, the gloves, the cowl. The only boots he wears these days are steel toe work boots.

He's volunteered with a charity, building houses for people in need. He has a workshop behind the house for carpentry projects when he's not building houses. He can finally build things instead of tearing them down. His hands no longer break things. They build them.

He takes another steadying breath and stands, walks to the kitchen. There's a pot of coffee made and he pours a mug, adds a touch of sugar and creamer, stirs it in. Each moment is slow and methodical, almost meditative. Each breath clearing the tension that had risen in him so quickly it was disorienting.

He goes to the front door and smiles when he sees his boots missing. Bucky's sloggers are sitting there. Perfectly clean and bright yellow, dotted with chickens. Next to those are a ridiculously fuzzy pair of rainbow colored duck shaped slippers. Bucky's worn his boots again.

He shoves his feet into the slippers and steps out onto the covered porch. Natasha is sitting on the railing, not deigning to join Bucky as he feeds the rest of the animals. The runty cat makes a quiet chirp then lifts a paw and licks it then wipes it over her head. Her namesake pretends to be disgruntled about the cat named after her, but is secretly pleased. Smiling when she thinks no one is watching her, snuggling the cat and whispering in Russian.

The frost on the wood seeps up through the slippers, toes curling in the plush fabric against the cold but he barely notices. His eyes are glued to Bucky where he's standing in the pen.

The weak early morning sunlight glints off of his arm, his hair. Sparkling in Steve's eyes. He's barely clothed, not minding the chill in the air. Wearing only a pair of tiny black boxer briefs and Steve's scuffed up work boots. The untied laces trailing behind him.

Pal, the chickens, ducks, and goats are crowded around him as he holds a feed bucket in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other.

One of the goats nibbles the lip of the feed bucket. One of the hens hops up onto the bucket and starts eating out of it. Bucky calls her greedy and laughs. It's the best sound Steve's ever heard. Better than any tinkling bell. Better than any song.

Bucky takes a sip of his coffee then reaches back and sits his mug on the fence with a smile and gentle admonishment when another fat hen, clearly not starving, jumps onto the fence and goes for his coffee. Steve isn't scared of the chickens, but if he was anywhere near that hen he'd be afraid she'd peck at his eyes judging from the look she's got. With Bucky she only clucks and waits impatiently as he lifts the other hen out of the feed bucket. The greedy hen fusses at him, feathers ruffled, as he holds her in his palm, then hops down into the mass of animals to wait for her breakfast. Pal is still bouncing around Bucky's feet as the first handful gets thrown and every animal rushes toward it. Angry squawks, quacks, and bleats sound as they argue over who gets the first bite. Bucky laughs again, calling them all greedy, as even Pal joins the fray. Steve grins when Bucky gets pecked on the shin and yelps when he doesn't move fast enough.

He loves this. Loves watching Bucky taking care of his animals. Being able to care for things, to raise them, to have something that was just his. Not something someone shoved into his brain and forced him to do. Bucky's hands don't tear things down anymore either. He helped Steve build the barn. The chicken house. The pens. Helped dig the pond for the ducks. But only after he'd come across an old man called a water witch that had come out with dowsing rods and found an underground spring that would feed the pond. Steve had been skeptical, but after digging down only a few feet they'd run into mud under the soil, a couple more feet and water had bubbled up. Bucky's smile then had been incandescent. Just as it was now, standing in the pen and throwing feed.

Handful after handful is thrown. Scratch, corn, all flock, black oil sunflower seeds, and sweet feed all mixed together because it didn't matter how many times the animals got separated into their own pens they still managed to escape and wind up together in one. The chickens, ducks, goats, and even Pal scatter after each handful. Just in case there might be something different, Steve guesses.

A crow flies overhead with a caw and Bucky grins up at it as it glides through the air streams in a circle before landing to eat with the rest of the animals. Steve smiles as Bucky tosses a handful to the crow and says good morning. The crow is Bucky's almost favorite Sam who sometimes brings him shiny trinkets.

All the chickens and ducks were named after Sam to irritate him. Steve suspects that Sam actually likes that they are. If only because it makes Bucky happy, which in turn makes Steve happy.

Bucky dumps the bucket upside down, the last few crumbs falling out. He turns and picks up his coffee, eyeing it carefully for feathers probably, then takes a drink as he goes to fetch another bucket of feed.

He sees Steve when he turns and his eyes glitter in the sunlight that's finally chasing away the dark edges. He smiles his widest smile, eyes crinkling into little crow's feet, happy and relaxed. No traces of fear or stress or worry. Bucky has never looked more beautiful than in this moment. Steve would marry him all over again right then and there in the pen. Surrounded by Bucky's animals and wearing nothing more than pajama bottoms and plushie duck slippers while Bucky stood there in tiny boxer briefs and too big work boots. And it would be perfect.

Bucky waves, a little dorky wiggling of metal fingers that sparkle in the light, then bites his bottom lip as he turns to scoop out the next bucket of feed from the fifty gallon drum with a locking lid that he stores it in. He keeps looking back toward Steve as he leans down to scoop the feed, bottom lip still bitten between his teeth and boxer briefs clinging to his ass indecently. He's just begging to be kissed. Right there in the pen.

Steve nods to himself, carries his coffee cup with him as he walks across the yard. The thin layer of frost on the grass crunching under Bucky's favorite slippers. He sits his mug on the fence, hops over the gate, and makes his way to his husband. Intent on waiting until he's thrown the last of the feed. Two of the ducks have a different idea and immediately run over. He yelps as they start biting at the slippers on his feet. Logically he knows they won't and can't hurt him. His fight or flight response does not and he yelps and hops from foot to foot, trying to escape the attack. He's almost certain they've turned into geese when he wasn't looking. Bucky laughs at him and it's so beautiful and distracting that it takes him longer than it should to shuck off the slippers and throw them out of the pen.

The ducks settle down and go back to eating and Bucky's still laughing when Steve yanks the bucket of out his hand and tosses it behind himself. He pulls Bucky close, as close as they can get and he winces a bit when Bucky accidentally steps on his toes, but it doesn't matter.

All that matters, right there in that perfect moment, is Bucky in his arms. Bucky's lips against his and Bucky's arms wrapped around him as tightly as possibly as they laugh into the kiss. When he finally lets go, when it's hard for both of them to breathe, he rests his forehead against Bucky's with a happy sigh. Bucky smiles, his lips brushing over Steve's as he does, eyes crinkled and nose scrunched up adorably.

He doesn't say anything. Neither of them need to. They've long gotten past the need for words to tell each other how they feel.

This is what they should've had all along. This peace with themselves and the world. Steve might never have thought it would be on a farm, as far from city life as either of them could get, but it was theirs. Their small piece of paradise. And nothing and no one could ever take it away from them.

He kisses Bucky again. Because he can. Because he knows Bucky will never turn him away. Just as Bucky knows Steve will never turn him away. They hold each other in the morning sun, tasting coffee on each other's lips, sharing breath and a love so bright it nearly burns.

Pal licks at his toes and he laughs as it tickles. He looks down and groans.

"I think I have goat poop between my toes."

Bucky laughs that perfectly happy laugh again and hooks his pinky around Steve's as he looks down.

"No, it's duck."

**Author's Note:**

> I said it was fluffy. I meant it. xD Steve and Bucky deserve to be happy damn it.
> 
> Also my country-ness may've come out a little, but whatever. lol


End file.
